


A Light In The Dark (Not The Moon)

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Full Moon, Gen, Guilt, Insecure Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin is Jackson Whittemore's Anchor, Past Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Post-Kanima Jackson Whittemore, Werewolf Jackson Whittemore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: He had to look a mess, shirtless and panting and dripping blood from where his claws were sunk into his own palms, but Lydia didn’t look shocked. She was as composed as ever, if a little less made up than usual, hair messily bunned instead of curled and sensible sneakers on her feet instead of heels. She didn’t flinch when Jackson bared his bloody teeth at her.“I told Derek not to call you.”“Don’t be stupid, Jackson,” she said. “You need an anchor.I’myour anchor.”
Relationships: Lydia Martin & Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	A Light In The Dark (Not The Moon)

**Author's Note:**

> for the day 4 "werewolf" theme of Jackson Appreciation Week!! writing wolves struggling with the full moon is always hella fun, and i do so wish we'd gotten to see the post-break-up Jydia relationship in canon T^T thanks for Fridge for the prompt, via tumblr ask meme!!

Jackson hated this. It was late November and the train car wasn’t exactly well insulated, but Jackson had long since stripped off his jacket and shirt and tossed them aside. His blood felt like it was _boiling,_ his eyes flickering out of control, claws digging into his thighs because he couldn’t bring them back in. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, though his tongue had long since healed from when he’d split it open on the fangs crowding his mouth.

Outside, the full moon called to him. Bright and insistent, it _pulled_ at him like a tether fixed behind his sternum, and it was all he could do not to beat down the walls and run until he found something to chase, to _hunt,_ to rip into. His claws itched for blood and he was _scared_ of how hard it was to remember that he didn’t actually want that.

He’d had blood on his hands before. Hot and sticky, dripping down his scaly arms as Matt’s voice crooned in his mind that they deserved it.

Jackson sunk his claws deeper into his own thighs, trying to sate the bloodlust. The wet warmth made his stomach lurch—half disgust, half ecstasy—but at least it was _his_ and no one else’s. It couldn’t be anyone else’s, _not again._

A snarl forced its way out of his mouth, ripping through the silence of the empty car like a chainsaw. The walls were flimsy. They couldn’t keep him in if he really wanted out. One punch and they would crumple like tissue paper. It would be so _easy,_ and then there would be fresh air, scents on the breeze, the soothing coolness of the moon on his skin. Just one punch and he would be free to—

Jackson bit down on his own forearm, sharp teeth sinking in deep. _Pain keeps us human,_ that was what Derek had said on the last full moon. Granted, he had been stepping on Jackson’s broken leg at the time, pinning him to the ground as he’d snapped and snarled and thrashed. But he hadn’t been wrong. It wasn’t enough to clear the fog from his mind entirely, but it was something. It kept him in the car, away from anyone he could hurt, and that was all that mattered.

When he felt that he safely could, Jackson unlatched his fangs from their bite and spat a mouthful of blood onto the dusty floor. The scent of it was almost enough to overwhelm him again.

His shoddy attempts at deep breathing were interrupted by a knock on the metal siding of the car, startlingly loud. A whiff of light floral perfume found its way to Jackson’s nose and he whined before he could stop himself.

It took everything he had in him to abandon the tight corner he’d wedged himself into at the back of the car and stagger his way to the door, and even more to yank it open and _not_ lose himself to the temptation of _freedom._

He had to look a mess, shirtless and panting and dripping blood, but Lydia didn’t look shocked. She was as composed as ever, if a little less made up than usual, hair messily bunned instead of curled and sensible sneakers on her feet instead of heels. She didn’t flinch when Jackson bared his bloody teeth at her.

“I told Derek not to call you.”

“Don’t be stupid, Jackson,” she said. “You need an anchor. _I’m_ your anchor.”

Jackson snarled, gripping the door frame so tightly that the metal gave way with a screech. “No, you’re not. We’re not even together anymore.”

Lydia didn’t flinch at that either, though her throat worked around a hard swallow. “That doesn’t matter. Jackson—”

“You need to _go._ ” Jackson forced his fingers to unclench, pieces of rusted metal falling away to clatter on the concrete at Lydia’s feet. Already, he ached for something else to break. “It isn’t safe for you here.”

Lydia eyed him carefully for a moment, her heart beating fast in her chest and a sharp twist in her scent. Then she shook her head. “You won’t hurt me.”

Jackson laughed through the blood in his mouth. The sound scraped his throat raw. “I’ve already hurt you!”

She did flinch this time. A second later, her head was held even higher, her jaw set stubbornly and a challenge in her eyes. “I don’t care.”

A growl clogged Jackson’s throat, chest heaving with the pressure of it. “How can you not care?”

“Because I care about _you._ ”

“You shouldn’t.”

Immediately, Jackson wanted to take it back. He hadn’t _meant_ to say it at all, but his self-control wasn’t exactly at its peak, and now Lydia’s face was gentling in that way that looked all too much like pity, and that _burned_ almost as much as the moon’s pull.

Even with that look, though, her voice was crisp and frank as she raised an imperious eyebrow and said, “Too bad.”

Jackson growled again. Blood dripped down his fingers, claws sunk deep into his palms to keep from— _fuck,_ he didn’t know what he wanted to do. The moon was _right there,_ beating down just beyond his reach, promising power and freedom and wild abandon, but there was Lydia too. Bright and brilliant, pale skin soft as rose petals, and he ached to _touch,_ to let his fingers trace familiar pathways over her skin even though he had no right. Not anymore. Not now that he knew what those fingers were capable of. How easily he could rip through that delicate skin and snuff out that bright light.

Lydia knew all that too. She knew everything that he had done, every drop of blood his hands had spilled. She _knew,_ so why was she still here? She should be running for the hills, not stepping closer. Definitely not reaching out to lay her hand on his bloody arm.

He flinched back, but she didn’t let him go. “Lydia—”

“ _Jackson._ ”

The paleness of her hand shone against the dark red smear beneath her fingers, but the skin beneath was smooth and unbroken now, the only remnant of it the coppery tang on Jackson’s tongue. Even if he hadn’t been a werewolf, it wouldn’t have been hard to break her grip, but the steel in her eyes was enough to pin him in place.

“Let me do this for you.”

The moon burned above them, but Lydia’s touch was cool and unbearably soothing. Jackson’s fist unclenched, his claws nowhere to be seen. He was shaking.

His voice shook too, no matter how hard he fought to keep it steady. “I don’t deserve it.”

Lydia’s grip tightened, a quick press of fingernails into the soft flesh of his inner wrist, but she didn’t release him. She didn’t even argue. Instead, she simply said, “I know,” with a sad half-smile on her pink lips. “But you _will._ Won’t you?”

With one more shaky breath, Jackson stepped aside and let her in.

**Author's Note:**

> [also rebloggable on tumblr!](https://clotpolesonly.tumblr.com/post/621295739143962624/lydia-telling-jackson-let-me-do-this-for-you)


End file.
